


Instincts

by MossFeather



Category: Original Story, Original Work
Genre: Animals, Extinction, Fiction, First Person, First person writing, Gen, Human/Animal Hybrids, Hybrids, Mammals, Original Fiction, Original Story - Freeform, Wars, Wildlife, chapters, original writing - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-16 17:46:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3497252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MossFeather/pseuds/MossFeather
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Well, animals. I’ve always been very inspired by them so this takes a lot of my own personal feelings into account; but this is basically an informative story, though also dwells within fiction. It touches down on the subjects of animal extinction, destruction of wildlife habitats, and being able to see through the eyes of animals as a human-being when an odd phenomenon begins to change everyone caught in-between.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

            I’ve always loved animals.

            Ever since I was a little kid; though yes, most kids seem to gain quite the fascination with the creatures, and no one really ever seems to truly _hate_ them, either. Though only a certain percentage will keep their awe-struck stature when in the view of a wild beast, something more than just your simple housecat or pet pup—some children grow up and lose every interest they ever had in animals, that seeing your common ground squirrel or even the rarer sight of a skunk no longer excites them and they only see these creatures as pests.

            Most kids will whine and beg to have their parents take them for a trip to the local zoo, whether it be for a Holiday, Birthday, or just because they want to. Children are so easily enthralled in something new and will stand for hours if they could staring at the new, large mammals that roam the exhibits, barely giving any acknowledgement to the racket around them of yelling and cooing. Though, children also very easily lose their interest as soon as something else new and exciting comes along, taking grasp of their short attention spans and veering them away.

            In due time they forget their interest about the creatures of the wild and merely focus on house pets or nothing at all, merely focusing on their own growth, development, and maybe the new game they’d been waiting months upon months to be released that now soaks up all their spare time when they’re not sitting in class or doing left-over school work.

            Don’t get me wrong; I _love_ videogames and I’m very guilty of checking my calendar day by day while I wait for it to hit the shelves, but that only takes up a small amount of my time before I move back to focus solely on what I have been moving forward to accomplish.

            When I was young I thought I wanted to be a vet, to be able to save lives of animals and protect them from further harm—but as I grew, that thought became worse and worse to me. Blood. I cannot handle blood, and death, that’s even worse, if I was to handle an animal and only fail, or to be forced to put one down—I just, I wouldn’t have the heart. I could never do that. That goal was quickly tossed out of the window only to flutter away in the wind.

            Now, about seven or so years after that thought I’d finally decided on what I _really_ want to do. I want to protect animals, the creatures that walk this planet and are forced from their homelands by the people who have decided to claim it as their own. Whose numbers are dwindling because they have nowhere else to go besides to elements that are too harsh for their species to handle. To keep them away from the ruthless hunters that don’t understand that if they keep up their acts, there won’t be any left to gather supplies from.

            A sanctuary. My goal has been set to either run my own or work at a sanctuary for endangered species, to bring their numbers back up and hopefully, help the creatures back into their homelands without fear of their extinction. That’s what I want to do, what I want to put my heart and _soul_ into accomplishing.

            My only worry—will I have the choice to do that? Yes, at this moment it is very much a needed thing to protect the species that are near their end, but by the time I’m up on my feet and able to pursue my career, will I need to? Will the animals still be in danger? Being forced from their home as they watch it tumble down before them, only to be turned into firewood?

            The thought never occurred to me before, because humans are so set in their ways and have never once fully taken the stride to step back and give the creature’s breathing room.

            Though, as it may seem, I could be onto something—I may not be needed if people start to sympathize with them, to understand their struggle and the instincts that tell them to stray, or to protect their home with violence or merely give up, sacrificing their bodies for their kits, cubs, pups, or whatever else the offspring are referred to in our tongue.

            If only they—no, _we_ could see the world how they see it, to feel the emotions they feel, to be taken over by instincts that would normally keep us alive, but only to have them fail. That would change minds, make people understand and not take these gorgeous, wild spirits for granted.

            Wouldn’t it?


	2. Troll Doll

The only reason my eyes even open this morning is thanks to the blaring alarm I’ve set on my phone, a tune that resembles “Happy Birthday” but sounds as if it’s being played by an untuned orchestra who’s never put on a show before. Even so, I let the ungodly sound continue for a few more moments before willing myself to roll to the side, picking the noisy item up and clumsily shutting it off with half-numbed fingers. Exhaling a heavy sigh that soon transforms into a long, rather unattractive yawn I’m having to force myself to sit up, a rather unusual aching feeling pooling in my lower back. I really need to invest in a new mattress before this one kills me with the lose springs that have bent and uncoiled, tearing the fabric that kept them contained inside. Maybe next month.

            Stretching lanky limbs out before me I cross them, letting my shoulders give a loud pop before a satisfied sigh rolls off my tongue, the same feeling soon radiating through my neck after giving a harsh turn to the left—that one, not as satisfying. Pretty sure I just broke my neck.

            The rugged flooring beneath my feet is warm and I can’t help but rub the bare bottom of my foot against it, quickly heating up the cold soles and toes before letting myself stand. Ah, mornings. How I hate them. Alright—I don’t exactly _hate_ them, just, would rather sleep until the late afternoon and wake up on my own accord instead of forcing myself from the comfort and warmth of the covers. Unfortunately, today happens to be a Thursday which means: _work._

            Though, I hate my job less than I hate mornings—actually, I rather enjoy my job. I don’t have much to compare it to, though, seeing as it’s my first and only job, but it doesn’t bore me, nor does it throw me into a foul mood. Therefore, it’s pretty good and I have no reason to feel negative toward having to show up. Lucky for myself, a new pet shop had opened only a bike ride away from my current home and was quickly holding interviews to fill in the spots they needed; sure, I got put into stock and cleaning duty, but it isn’t so bad. Again, I kind of enjoy it. Plus, it brings income in, so do I really have any reason to complain?

            Not only, but I’d managed to drag my housemate along with me to submit an application, and she’d as well gotten accepted, though it was to register, I can still find reasons to pop out from the back of the shop to bother her every so often throughout our day.

            Speaking of, the rather familiar scent of freshly brewed coffee is slowly wafting into my room, signaling that yes, she’d gotten herself up some time before myself to ready herself and chug down a mug of that sludge black, bitter liquid. How she can swallow that stuff down _amazes_ me, the only way you could get me to drink it is to fill the thing practically to the brim with caramel creamer. Otherwise it’s like trying to choke down a cup of blended Brussel Sprouts or something as equally cringing to the taste-buds.

            Honestly, at the moment I can’t even be assed to throw on a pair of pants until I’ve eaten and gained some kind of energy for the day and merely shuffle my way across the carpet in a white and grey t-shirt riddled with holes and a baggy pair of pure black boxers. Grabbing the shiny, painted gold handle of my door I twisted and tug, willing the thing open as hinges creak and groan, my presence automatically being known throughout the household. Hell, even just taking the first step outside the room causes the floorboards beneath me to squeak, and each step to follow only continues the rhythm. This place could really be spruced up, maybe some new paint, less squeaky flooring, replace the carpet…

            Man; that’s just too much time and effort, not to mention money.  Maybe next year.

            While making my way into the kitchen area that really, was only a few large strides away from the bedroom, I’m easily distracted by the soft mewing that rings in my ears and causes my head to perk, steps slowly faltering to a stop.

                        “Good mornin’, bud.”

            I can’t help the soft, almost endearing smile that crawls over my lips to the sight of the little, soft grey and black Siamese that is perched on top of his cat-tree, looking down at me from his favorite spot—one that allows him to take vision on _all_ of his surroundings. Of course, I stop for some time to give him a little attention, working my fingers behind his ears and under his chin, receiving a low, content purr from the feline before he decides to curl back up and resume his position of sleeping. Lucky him; doesn’t have to get up and go to work, or pay rent, and gets to do practically anything he wants all day but instead, he just sleeps.

            I envy that cat every day of my life.

            Shaking my head I leave him be, continuing my adventure into the kitchen, attempting to stifle a yawn as I step onto the cold, tiled flooring, frowning at the feeling against my previously warmed feet.

                        “ _Geeze,_ about time you wake up. Nice bedhead, by the way.”

            Ah, and there she is, the _lovely_ Taylor, already dressed up in her purple and black work uniform and lounging against the counter, coffee in hand and a smug grin plastered across her face.

            I try and act as if I take no notice to her sassing tone, but I can’t help the roll of my eyes and the smiles that twitches on the corner of my lips. Taylor and I have been friends for quite a few years now, since I was about 13 and now, I’m a whopping 20 years old—I always asked myself how I’ve put up with her for _seven_ damn years, but I know of course, she asks herself the same exact question.

            Then we laugh about it, because there really isn’t anyone else I’d rather share this crumby little house with, seeing as neither of us have significant others to move in with, why not live with your best friend? Makes the payments a lot easier, plus, things aren’t so lonely. It’s pretty good, entertaining, that’s for sure, especially since most of our interests are very much the same, so things never get boring around here.

            Pushing my way past her with a playful shove I’m quickly digging into the contents of the freezer and pulling out a box of frozen, strawberry waffles (healthy, I know). Pulling two out they’re quickly thrown into the small, countertop oven and closed in, my fingers now working with the rounded dial and turning the heat up, timer beginning to tick away before I can leave the food to cook without supervision.

            Though, my mind quickly wanders back to a certain housemate’s comment on my hair and hands are quickly reaching up, fingers running through the dirty blond tuffs in an attempt to flatten them down, a heavy huff exhaling from my chest. I’ll deal with it later, no reason to worry about it before I’m even close to being ready for work.

                        “You look like one of those little troll dolls, Dan.”

            My attention is quickly snapped back over toward Taylor, rather dumbfounded by her comment before I’m able to process just what she was referring to—of course, my hair. Again. Though, this time, I can’t help the smile at the sight of her own, shit-eating grin, a laugh soon forcing itself from me.

                        “Says you, the things always had crazy colored hair—like yours! You’re closer to a troll doll than _I_ am.”

            There’s obvious sarcasm in my tone, because of course she doesn’t a _ctually_ look like a troll, but the purple hair she sports could sure be styled like one with just a bit of ruffling!

            She takes the mask of offense, an overdramatic gasp being sucked in as the mug in her hand is pulled closer to her body, the opposite hand raising to cover her mouth as if I’d just told her that a family member had died.

                        “How _could_ you hurt me this way? I thought we had something special!”

            A low whine is knitting its way through her speech, but it’s easy to tell she’s having trouble keeping the charade up as her lips twitch and she has to struggle to keep her laugh in. Yup. There she is, my best friend who I’ve chosen to live with, calling me a troll doll and faking sensitivity.

            She’s fortunate I love her like a younger sister, or else she’d be on her ass and without shelter in seconds (at least, I tell myself she would be. She really wouldn’t).

            My eyes roll yet again as a smirk appears over my features, the palm of my hand giving her shoulder a gentle push before I walk past, waving just before I’d disappear back out of the room and wander back through the hall.

                        “Tell me when the waffles are done; I gotta get dressed.”


	3. Merman

By the time the clock ticks 9’oclock both Taylor and I are on our bikes, dressed down in that purple uniform we’ve become all too familiar with and steadily making our arrival to downtown’s pet shop. The ride is quiet, but it’s a little hard to keep a steady conversation while speeding past each other with whatever speed our legs will pedal, more often than not we’ll play “bike chicken”, not by the busy roads, of course, but when the streets are quiet I’ll skid by her, or she’ll do the same to me, giving one of us the choice to either brake in fear of bikes colliding, or pull the ultimate jerk move and keep going, causing a rear wheel to meet with a front, both bikes being halted to a stop before one of us are forced off and rolling to the concrete.

            The latter is usually the how the game ends up, I’ve arrived to work with a fresh skid or cut more than once, Taylor however? She seems to be the _Queen_ of this game and never loses her balance. It’s crap, especially since she’d only learned to ride a bike when we needed them for transportation to work! Somehow, she cheats. I don’t know how, but she just _does._

Though, this ride is unusually tame, neither one of us making a move to throw the other off balance or race to work. It’s kind of nice, having such a calm ride and merely enjoying the crisp, morning air and the soft heat of the sun that’s beginning to wake the Earth up. Neither of us seem to mind the quiet, perhaps she was enjoying the ride as much as I.

            It really doesn’t take us long to arrive at work, whether we are screwing around or not—It’s just downtown which luckily for us, even by foot it’s only about twenty minutes down the road. Once the little shop is in sight brakes are held and the wheeled contraptions come to a halt, both of us hopping off almost simultaneously and wheeling our bikes over to the silver racks that line randomly around the shops. Unfortunately, we don’t have _actual_ bikes locks, just some broken jumper cables that we’d fashioned together with twisty ties, making it at least _look_ like our bikes were locked up, so far, it seemed to ward people off, so until that fateful day where they’d be stolen; we’re making do with what we have. 

            Helmets are hung on the handlebars and my companion is already making her way into the familiar building, quickly disappearing off behind the cash register and setting the station up for the day. After a few deep breaths and a brush down of my clothing I’m close behind, the shiny bell that hung above the door giving up a soft chime, signaling my arrival through the threshold. Honestly; I hate that bell. I hate it so much, at first it wasn’t a big deal, it really isn’t that loud, almost relaxing—or, well, it _would_ be if you didn’t have to hear it a thousand goddamn times a week! I’m going to go c _razy_ and it’s going to be that bell’s fault.

            A heavy exhale leaves my chest as the bottom of my sneakers slide across the tiled floor of the shop, quickly finding my spot in the back—normally we’d restock on Friday so all would be ready to go Monday morning, but the owner is going on vacation so we get an extra day off. I’m pretty excited for an extra day of slacking off at home; but by the sound of the heavy, irritated footsteps coming my way, somebody else isn’t exactly as happy about the news.

            Forrest, the loud and obnoxious co-worker that doesn’t seem to do anything else with his life besides work, and annoy everyone else around him constantly. It’s not that I don’t _like_ the guy, I get along with him well enough, he just…he’s hard to get used to, I’m rather impressed by his ability to speak his mind, but sometimes I wish he’d just, keep some things to himself.

                        “ _Vacation._ What a load of bull.”

            When footsteps stop all I hear is the low, venomous mumbling of the man who is now besides me and picking up a large bag of dog food, merely seeming to ignore my presence before stalking back off into the shop. It’s funny how he holds that stereotypical look of a “punk” with a deep black Mohawk that could use a bit of a trim trailing down the middle of his head, earrings littering each ear top to bottom, thick rimmed glasses settling atop his nose and at the times he’s not wearing his work uniform, I usually see him with some sort of band T-shirt on. I thought punks were supposed to be _nice,_ at least, that’s what the internet told me. Maybe his pants are too tight, at least, they sure look like they are. I’d be pretty crabby too if I was talking around with my underwear up my ass all day.

            Shaking my head and expelling thoughts of screwing Forrest’s day up for the worst instead I go to focus on my own job; cleaning the tanks. The shop isn’t all that large and only really holds a few animals, the place is mostly for supplies and what not, but we do have a rather large selection of fish ranging from goldfish to those weird little striped snake looking things that live underwater. No one else seems to really like this job, complaining about how the tanks are filled with “a bunch of fish crap and grime! No way I’m sticking _my_ hand in there.”. Well no _shit,_ considering they _live_ in the things, it’s bound to get grimy, that’s why we clean it! Man, Taylor has it easy, just dealing with the register and doesn’t have to listen to the complaints of other co-workers.

            Honestly, I don’t _hate_ anyone here, hell I really enjoy the company of most of my fellow employees, I just wish they’d understand that it’s a job and has to get done one way or another. Though, this is the only job I’ve worked at, maybe it’s just because I’m inexperienced and haven’t become bitter yet. Oh well.

            Sliding the top off one of the tanks it’s carefully put over to the side and atop the small table that sits in the dim-lit room, a heavy sigh slowly leaving my chest before fingers are popping loudly to the pressure of the opposite hand pushing down on the knuckles. Time to get down to business. Grabbing supplies from the closet of the shop it’s really not that difficult of a job—sponge, net, fake kelp, a bucket, and the hose that attaches onto the sink is really all that’s needed. All I have to really do is scoop the fish out and put them into the temporary tank we have handy, then go to town with cleaning the glass and putting in some fresh water along with new decoration for the little creatures. Really, it’s not _that_ hard. A little time consuming, but it’s better than having to deal with customers.

            It had to be only about twenty minutes into the cleaning when I hear that god-forsaken _bell_ chiming from the front room—it’s faint, but just loud enough that the ringing takes my attention and causes a frown to show over as my brows crease in irritation. One day, I’m taking that thing and smashing it. I swear on my own grave. Putting the little fish back into their home for them to explore yet again and only muck up further I clap my hands together before sauntering to the sink and quickly washing, knowing that I’d just be going right back to the job after taking a quick peek out into the shop. I can’t help but get curious, I’m almost always stuck in the back and never get to really converse with anyone—not that I have much a want to do so, but I still like to get a feel of who’s showing up in our little shop.

            Though this time, they don’t seem to be anybody new. Ash and Amy stone, sisters—Amy being the elder, pretty sure her Birthday had only just passed so she had to be about…oh, what was it, 23 now? Yeah. That sounds right. Ash on the other-hand is only about 18 and getting ready to start her first year at University. Must be exciting—I was never exactly one for school, so after dropping out junior year, I never really looked back.

            While lost in my own thought of ages and schooling I hadn’t noticed that I’d been spotted by one, long brown haired Amy as she trotted up to me with unneeded enthusiasm.

                        “ _Daniel!_ Long time no see, I’m surprised you haven’t become part fish with all the time you spend around them.”

            Normally a comment like that would cause me to roll my eyes and huff, but coming from someone with such a happy-go-lucky attitude and a bright, shining smile like hers, I let it slide.

            Hell, she even gets a small laugh out of me.

                        “Yeah, come back in a week and I’ll have turned into a Merman.”

            The comment only seems to make her smile grow, rather amused by how I went along with her joke—though, it really wasn’t all that hard to get such a reaction from her. Amy and Ash were well known, they came in at least once a week whether it was to pick up supplies for their pets, or just to come in and say hello. At first when they started showing up we all thought they were just real close friends, because hell, they’re practically polar opposites. Amy gives off the “I love everyone and just want to have a million friends” vibe while Ash gives off the more cold-shouldered “Don’t fucking look at me” kind of feeling. By now, we’ve mostly cracked through the younger’s hard shell, but she’s still rather reserved and doesn’t speak up much and merely just tags along with Amy for the ride.

                        “Well, if you’re going to become a merman then _I_ want to become a Unicorn, you can’t have _all_ the fun, you know!”

I only wave my hand and give a shake of my head at her ridiculous fantasy, my attention quickly snapping onto something else that my vision settles on—Taylor, she’s giving me one of those “get the hell over here” kind of looks that always makes me nervous. Did something happen? Did _I_ do something? Am I getting fired? Before I even know what I’m doing I’m already stepping to the counter and silently giving her my full attention, leaving the brunette I was previously conversing with standing around aimlessly and confused by the back of the shop.

            “—Oh don’t give me _that_ look, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

I breathe out a breath I hadn’t even realized I was holding in.

            “Ash was just telling me about something she heard on the news, you might want to hear this.”

Something _I_ might want to hear? I never really was one to pay mind to the happenings around the World, just sort of, let things flow on by as they did. Even so, I slowly turn to the female with the dyed white bangs that hid one of her deep, green irises, the younger sister seeming to need to recollect her thoughts before re-telling whatever she’d just explained beforehand.

This was going to be a long one, I could already tell—good thing the boss isn’t in today.


End file.
